


Listen

by kla1991



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Depression, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kla1991/pseuds/kla1991
Summary: Myka knows a bouquet of tulips won’t pull Helena out of her down-swing—nothing will but time and agonizing effort on Helena’s part. All she wants to do is make a visible gesture of love, to make sure Helena doesn’t forget that it’s there.





	Listen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grandhikewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandhikewrites/gifts).



> This is based on a prompt from grandhikewrites. It took a while for me to tackle it, but I'm glad that I did.

            A bouquet of tulips won’t pull Helena out of her down-swing—nothing will but time and agonizing effort on Helena’s part. But Myka wants to make a visible gesture of love, to make sure Helena doesn’t forget that it’s there.

            She forgets too easily. There are times when Myka is stunned by the depths of hatred and disgust for herself that Helena can reach, and so quickly, so earnestly, at the smallest mistake. Myka knows the feeling, but not like Helena does. Helena can’t just shoot a two-inch light switch from across a room and feel better about herself—success almost seems to make her angrier, and Myka doesn’t understand that.

            A bit of color, though, never hurt anyone, so she buys a dozen pink and yellow tulips in a beautiful blue vase and brings them home.

            It’s been two days since Myka set off for Decatur, Georgia, leaving Helena sitting quiet and small on a couch in the Warehouse. Aside from the location of the chosen couch, not much has changed.

            “Hey you,” Myka says, and Helena looks up from the book she’s not reading and smiles, then gasps at the flowers.

            “Oh, they’re so beautiful!” she says, in a voice that sounds somehow underwater, far away.

            Myka sets the tulips on a side table by the couch. Helena shifts until she can reach them, and cups one of the yellow blossoms in her hand. She says, not meeting Myka’s eyes, “I don’t deserve you, my love.”

            The shot of frustration zings up Myka’s spine, spreading out to tighten every muscle. God, she wishes Helena would stop doing that. She tries to shake off the rigidity, rolling her shoulders and sitting down next to Helena. Her goal is to get Helena into her arms fast enough that she doesn’t notice Myka’s frown, but she doesn’t make it. A hand on her shoulder keeps them apart, and Helena’s dreary eyes are searching hers.

            “What’s wrong, what did I do?”

            “Nothing,” Myka says, trying and failing to pull Helena closer to her and further from the impending rage-spiral. “I’m fine.”

            But Helena has found some reserve of strength in her depression-drained body, and she doesn’t budge. It’s too late now. Myka drops her head back on the couch and closes her eyes, sighing.

            “You couldn’t have just said thank you?”

            There’s panic contorting Helena’s voice as she sputters, “I-I had thought it was implied. I’m so stupid, I’m sorry, I—“

            “Will you just stop that!” Myka snaps, yanking her head back upright to look at Helena. She takes a breath then, and presses at her eyes. The last thing Myka wants to do is yell at her girlfriend right now.

            “Look, I’m not mad at you, okay? And this isn’t your fault, and it’s _so_ not about me, but I just… When you put yourself down like that—you’re stupid, you’re worthless, you can’t do anything right—it’s not true, and I feel like you can’t hear me when I tell you that. You respect me, you value my opinions, so why can’t you hear me? And I know why, I do. I just… It hurts.”

            Now, Helena stops pushing away from her. Instead, she wraps her arms around her and pulls her in close to her chest. Myka settles her head on Helena’s shoulder, clings tightly to her waist. She’d expected to be holding Helena, comforting her, not the other way around, but she doesn’t want to be let go.

            “How long have you felt this way?” Helena asks.

            Myka curls in closer, swinging her legs into Helena’s lap. “I didn’t want you to feel bad about it,” she explains instead of answering. “It’s my issue, not yours.”

            Helena sighs, almost groans. “It’s _our_ issue, Myka. Bering _and_ Wells, together.”

            “I love you,” Myka whispers against Helena’s neck.

            The sunset light streams into the room, and Myka watches it fade for a while. Other than the hand petting Myka’s hair, Helena is still for a long time. Then the muscles in her neck shifting, her head turning to glance around the room. Under her breath, Helena starts counting—she’s using one of the calming techniques she’d been taught. After Helena has counted up five things she can see, Myka joins her, straining her ears for four sounds. Leena’s house is almost silent, but the tv is on in Pete’s room across the hall, just loud enough to make it out. Helena scratches the fabric of Myka’s jeans. Myka clears her throat. Helena presses her back into the couch until it squeaks.

            When Myka sits up, they join their hands, the first of three things they can feel. Helena rubs her elbow on the arm of the couch. Myka strokes a petal on one of the tulips, and Helena follows suit.

            Then she smells one of the flowers. When she tilts the vase toward Myka to smell, she nearly spills the water. She laughs. She isn’t angry. She sniffs her own hair, and offers that, too, to Myka.

            One thing to taste. There’s no hesitation when they lean toward each other for a kiss, lingering in the moment that has become so firm and grounded between them.

            When they finally part, Myka asks, “How are you feeling?”

            “Better,” Helena says. “Thank you.”

            The sun has set now, and Myka is fully prepared to fall asleep on the couch and make Helena carry her to bed. While she’s making herself comfortable, Helena looks at the tulips—really looks at them, and sees them.

            “You’re right, of course,” she says. “You’re the most incredible thing alive, you’re brilliant, you’re brave. And you love me. So I can’t really be all that bad, now, can I?”

            When she turns to look at Myka, she has her rightful smirk back on her face. “Potentially rather fantastic, actually.”

            Myka laughs, wide awake now and kissing Helena joyfully.

            “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she says.


End file.
